Free The Border Lord's Bride by Bertrice Small

beneath my pillow, my lord. While he fumbled and groped at me, I took it out, and I stabbed him. I don‘t know how many times my blade pierced his flesh, but when he fell to the floor with a single groan he made no further cry; nor did he move. I killed him." She began to cry again.
    "God and his Blessed Mother forgive me, for I have killed a man! How will I ever atone for such a sin?"
    "The man was a murderer," Duncan Armstrong said. "And he was a low cur to attempt to assault you, Ellen."
    "He said he could see in my eyes that I wanted to flee. He said that with a bairn in my belly I would not run, for I would be too ashamed." Ellen sobbed.
    "It‘s all right, lass," the laird soothed her. "You were but defending yourself from an attack. I will take you back to the king, Ellen MacArthur, and we will tell him what has happened. Jamie is a just man."
    "But the MacDonald tries the king greatly, I know. And Balgair‘s family is in the MacDonald‘s service," Ellen said. "Will not the king want to assuage their anger?"
    "James is a just man," the laird repeated. "He will not give you over to certain death. You were protecting yourself, avenging your grandsire, as was your right. Now, do you think you were followed? Or that anyone will divine where you have fled?"
    "I was careful, and no one saw me leave," Ellen said. "And I locked my bedchamber door and threw the key in the loch. I suspect it was midday before anyone thought to seek out Balgair in my chamber. And they will not at first consider that I have fled farther than the woods about the keep. They will attend to Balgair first, and then perhaps tomorrow they will spend a day seeking me. After that I do not know."
    The laird nodded. "Then we will be at least three days ahead of anyone seeking for you, if they are clever enough even to consider that you have fled to the king. They may believe you have perished in the forest, and your home will be taken as a forfeit by either the MacArthurs of Skye or the MacNabs. They will undoubtedly fight it out for Lochearn. It is unlikely you can ever return."
    "I know," Ellen said. "I knew before Balgair came into my chamber that I must leave it for good, my lord." Several tears rolled down her cheeks. "How could I ever eat or dance in our hall again after seeing the bodies of my grandfather and poor Donald murdered in their chairs as they sat at the high board?" She brushed her tears away.
    Jock brought Ellen an oatcake, and a small haunch of rabbit he had placed upon a large leaf.
    "Mistress, you must eat."
    Ellen gave him a tremulous smile. "Thank you," she said. "If you will seek in my saddlebag you will find almost an entire cottage loaf I took with me. It‘s still fresh. Portion it out among yourselves, Jock, and thank you for the whiskey. I feel warmer now." She began to eat the food she had been given.
    "Will you be all right if I leave you for a few moments?" the laird asked her, and when she nodded he got up and joined his men. "We must keep a sharp eye out, lads. It‘s unlikely we‘ll be followed, but tomorrow we will make all haste to find the king and bring Mistress Ellen to safety. She has killed the man who murdered her grandfather and betrothed husband. We should have a few days‘ lead, but we cannot be certain they won‘t follow after the lass for revenge. It is our duty to get her to the refuge of the king‘s protection. Post a guard, and we will keep watch the night at three-hour intervals."
    Ellen slept exhausted that night, realizing only as her eyes closed that but for a brief nap she had not slept in two days. She forced herself to remain awake the next day as they rode south at a far quicker pace than she had anticipated. After several days they came out of the western Highlands and down into the hills about Falklands Palace, where the king was now ensconced. Ellen had never been wearier in all of her life, but she was anxious to beg the king‘s protection, and to reassure Peigi that they would somehow